


Those Careless Hands

by NandaWrites



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Depression, Drowning, Like a lot of feels, M/M, Mutual Pining, Parabatai, Parabatai Curse, Parabatai Feels, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Support, clueless mutual pining, if you have read midnight heir you know what James did, or whatever the word is for 2 idiots that love each other but don't know yet, post Midnight Heir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 19:38:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12778044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NandaWrites/pseuds/NandaWrites
Summary: “Are you sure, Jamie? Nothing wrong happened while you were at the Serpentine?”It was an ultimatum, his last chance for confession, and James’ insides seemed to freeze at the fear that Matthew in some way, somehow, knew. His greatest secret, weakness, shame and desire, his greatest sin, and Matthew knew. No, it couldn’t be. Panic started spreading through him as his breath hitched, but still he smiled, innocently, and answered: “No, Matthew, nothing happened. Quit bothering me about it. You know how dull I find it, and I already had quite enough of it last night from my parents.”His attempt of derailing him didn’t work. The ice in James’ veins seemed to have spread to Matthew’s eyes and the panic in him intensified. Never, not even when they were at the Academy and not on good terms, Matthew had looked at him like that. He stood quiet for a long time, while James barely dared to breath, and then he spoke slowly, a single word that was like the final nail in a coffin, pulling James down into that cold spiral of fear:“Liar,” he said.





	Those Careless Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by [this quote](https://br.pinterest.com/pin/16888567330905494/) in Cassie's TLH Pinterest board. I really can't wait to find out the context in which it fits in the books, but for now have this angsty Heronchild interpretation of mine. I hope you all like it!

When James opened his eyes again, the room was dark. The flames had gone out on the fire place a while ago and all the lights were turned off, the living room being lit only by the faint moonlight that came in through the spaces between the curtains that covered the windows. He looked blearily around, trying to remember what had happened, but all that he gathered was that it was likely very late. When he tried to lift his head, though, it throbbed something fierce and he felt immediately sick.

He lied back down and closed his eyes tightly, images from the night coming back to him. The club, Magnus Bane, the running around London, the lake… And the worried faces of his parents and uncle Jem, the bits and pieces of conversation he had gathered. He suddenly felt very sick for an entirely different reason, remembering the words of his father. He had never meant to hurt them, the only person he wanted to hurt was himself, and he now felt once again as he had felt when he had fallen on the pond, drifting lower and lower as the water surrounded him: that if only he disappeared, if he drifted into nothingness, not only all his pain would go away, but everyone else’s as well. His parents would no longer have to deal with a cursed child, hearing whispers of murder wherever they went, he would no longer constantly worry and burden them. They could be happy, father, mother and Lucie, all he had to do was go away, as a shadow among shadows, as many had told him.

It was a while before the sickness subsided and he had possibly dozed off again, since the next time he opened his eyes there was a grayish hue to the room around him. He really needed to get to bed, he thought, as it would at least make his mother less worried in the morning if she saw he had been well enough to manage it on his own, but when he tried getting up again, once again he found himself unable to. For the first time, he noticed there was a cover on top of him and something seemed to be pulling on it, weighing it down and trapping him.

His eyes drifted slowly and heavily across the cover and caught sight of a different patterned fabric- no, it was an arm, and above it there was a mop of blond hair. If it was possible, James’ stomach sank even further. Not once during the last night - ever since he had snuck out from the Institute filled with despair until this very moment - he had thought about his parabatai, convinced that Matthew would spend the night sound asleep on his bed and would never have to know about what he had done, but clearly that had not been the case. It had probably been naive of him to believe so, there was no way Matthew wouldn’t have known it; he seemed to know James better than he knew himself, sometimes. 

He wondered for how long the other had been there. Since the last time James had woken up? Since his parents had gone to bed? Had him seem the fight from last night?

“Idiot…” James murmured, and he couldn’t tell if he meant Matthew or himself. Slowly, he pulled his hand out from under the cover, his whole body seeming to be made of lead, and put it on Matthew’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. “Matthew? Matthew, wake up.”

He never expected for the other to startle up, eyes wide and scared as he looked at him, and it sent his own heart racing. 

“…James? Oh, thank the Angel!” Matthew exclaimed, and the next thing James knew the boy had flung himself on top of him, clutching him into a hug that knocked the breath out of his lungs and surprised him greatly. Matthew was always affectionate, but he was rarely ever disturbed or scared. James couldn’t remember the last time he had seen him this distressed, except for that day at the Academy all those years ago, when Matthew had talked about his worry for his father for the first time.

A pang of fear and despair hit him suddenly and his hands flew to the back of Matthew’s shirt, clutching to him right back and holding him close. He didn’t know if he was the one consoling him or the other way around as their hearts thundered together and a wave of emotions crashed through them until the comfort and reassurance of each other’s presence slowly calmed them down. James’ iron grip loosened the slightest bit and he finally noticed just how cold the room was outside of the covers, the fire having burnt out long ago, and how cold Matthew’s shirt and skin were, where they weren’t pressed to James’.

“Welsh, you are freezing! How long have you been there?”

Matthew sniffed and for a terrible moment James was terrified he was crying, but when he pulled away his face was dry, and he sent James a sheepish smile. “Ever since Aunt Tessa and Uncle Will left. I heard Bridget calling him and when I found out it was about you I followed them. I stayed in the corridor and hid on the next room when they went to bed and then I snuck back in here. I wanted to see for myself that you were alright, but I guess I ended up falling asleep… Oh, don’t you start.” He added, when James opened his mouth to admonish him for that. "You have not exactly been a paragon of safe and sane decisions yourself, Jamie, or I would have had no reason to be here in the first place.”

James knew Matthew hadn’t meant that as an attack on him, but it hurt all the same, the pang of guilt thrumming through his body. But it was the truth, so what could he do? Simply watch in silence as Matthew’s face softened in that old worried, kind expression he knew so well. “Jamie… The things that warlock, Magnus Bane, said… Were they all true?”

James sighed and sat up at last, throwing his blanket around Matthew’s shoulders; a sickening feeling burning at the back of his throat at the soft grateful smile his parabatai shot him before his features once more turned worried. Matthew had moved together with James, to kneel in front of him, concerned eyes looking up at his face, and James felt the guilt once again clutching at him. While Magnus hadn’t exactly lied, he also hadn’t said the whole truth, about how far he had sunken on the Serpentine and how much he had fought Magnus not to pull him out, but he couldn’t tell that to Matthew, his parabatai that was so sensitive and careful towards everyone around him. It would hurt him too much, and that was the last thing James wanted. The only person that deserved to be hurt was himself, the monster. He slowly nodded.

“Yes, they were all truth, though the way he put things was greatly out of proportion. I was drunk, I was having fun, there was no need to be all dramatic about it,” he waved his hand dismissively, trying his best to imprint annoyance and aloofness in his voice, but that was always so much harder with Matthew, his very being revolting against the idea of lying to him.

“…Great fun, indeed, as it seemed. So, you are telling me that nothing else happened?”

There was nothing unusual about the question, but Matthew’s tone had become weird, flat, his eyes boring into James as if they could see inside his soul and making James squirm. 

“Probably a great many deal of other things Magnus didn’t bother to mention to my parents, I can’t really recall them all myself, but nothing worthy of being worried about.”

He shrugged, but the movement was shaky under the weight of Matthew’s gaze. The calculated levity he had been trying to still in his movements lately slipping as the other remained serious, no trace of his usual smile in sight, and James knew that something had gone very, terribly wrong.

“Are you sure, Jamie? Nothing wrong happened while you were at the Serpentine?”

It was an ultimatum, his last chance for confession, and James’ insides seemed to freeze at the fear that Matthew someway, somehow, knew. His greatest secret, weakness, shame and desire, his greatest sin, and Matthew knew. No, it couldn’t be. Panic started spreading through him as his breath hitched, but still he smiled, innocently, and answered: “No, Matthew, nothing happened. Quit bothering me about it. You know how dull I find it, and I already had quite enough of it last night from my parents.”

His attempt of derailing him didn’t work. The ice in James’ veins seemed to have spread to Matthew’s eyes and the panic in him intensified. Never, not even when they were at the Academy and not on good terms, Matthew had looked at him like that. He stood quiet for a long time, while James barely dared to breath, and then he spoke slowly, a single word that was like the final nail in a coffin, pulling James down into that cold spiral of fear:

“Liar,” he said.

James’ ears started to ring, the whole world losing focus as he found himself unable to breath, much like last night at the river. But then there had been no panic, no thinking, just the slow decent into a welcome slumber, and now… Now James felt like he truly understood what dying felt like.

“What?”, he croaked, desperately trying to hang on to reality.

“You heard me. You are a damned… Filthy… Damned liar, James Herondale,” Matthew repeated, his words failing him, his eyes and voice now burning, hands closing into fists on James’ knees, bunching up his slacks between his fingers.

“Welsh…”

“Don’t you ‘Welsh’ me!” His voice raised, before he remembered they weren’t alone in the Institute and controlled it again, though all the intensity was still in it. The last thing he wanted was to wake anyone else, for then he wouldn’t be able to say all he wanted to say. “If nothing happened, as you say, then tell me why- Just _why_ did I wake up in the middle of the night feeling like I was drowning in my own bed? Gasping for air that should have been there, blinded even though the night was clear, and with my parabatai rune burning on my chest? _Why_ James?!”

Matthew’s voice broke and James felt vilely sick, because it was worse than he could have ever imagined. Matthew hadn’t only known how he felt, he had _felt_ it, and James didn’t- He hadn’t noticed- He had had no idea- How was that even possible?

“ _How?_ ”, he croaked back, the only thing he could think of saying, and clearly the wrong one. Matthew’s hands buried in his own hair in frustration, and for a mad moment James thought he would start pulling chunks of it out like the puppet on a show he had seem once as a kid, but he simply let go and brandished his hands in frustration.

“I don’t know _how_ , what does it even matter?! It was what happened, it was such as I felt, and it was all real, wasn’t it? I know it was, I _knew_ as it was happening that it was you, that you were in danger, but I couldn’t move, I couldn’t _breathe_ , I couldn’t see… I fell out of the bed, but I was choking, and I couldn’t get to you, no matter how much I tried, I… And then when I came back to me, Bridget was calling for your father, telling him to hurry because a warlock had brought you home and I couldn’t… I thought you were _dead_ , James.”

His voice died in a whisper and James noticed Matthew was indeed crying now, pearly tears on the dim light of dawn rolling slowly down his cheeks, falling with difficulty, as if he was trying to hold them back even as they fell. And James remembered, almost numbly, that Matthew hated crying as much as his mother, and that she had taught him a trick to hold the tears in when he was young. But there was no bright light for him to stare at now, only the dull glow of James’ cursed golden eyes.

“I was terrified… Damn, I still am! I pretended I didn’t know a thing to see if you would tell the truth if it was just me, but then you come and- And _lie_ to me and, and you were making _jokes_ , and I can’t believe you, I am just- So _furious_ with you, James. It’s all just- Why didn’t you trust me? Why did you even go out on your own? Why didn’t you take me with you? How am I supposed to take care of you, if you just go and- Why did you do that, Jamie? _Why?!_ ”, he continued relentlessly, each one of his words a stab through James’ soul, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He thought back to last night, to how peaceful it all had seemed, just being consumed by darkness, no pain or worry. He had thought it had been due to his drunkness, but now… If Matthew had really felt it all on his stead… Oh, he was really going to be sick.

“Stop! Please, just stop! I am sorry, I am so, so sorry. I had no idea, if I knew I would have never- I would never hurt you, or harm you in any way, you know that. I can’t even think of that, I am going to be sick, knowing that I caused you so much pain and panic. I just…”, he closed his eyes tight, against the nightmarish sight of Matthew crying, but the images in his mind were worse: Matthew choking, in pain, drowning. And he had been the cause of it. His hands bunched up the fabric of his pants as he clasped them until his knuckles went white and he breathed heavily. Murderer they called him, and they had been so close to being right. “I just wanted it all to end, the rumors, the whispers, the hate. You are all under scrutiny of the Clave just because of me, because I exist, so if I just… disappeared, you would all be better off, you would all be able to be happy. I never meant to hurt you, I am so desperately sorry, I…”

He stopped talking, words dying in his throat. That was it, his biggest secret, out into the world, and it was so terrifying he didn’t dare to open his eyes, afraid of the look in Matthew’s face. Shock, disgust, surely, maybe even acceptance-

“James, are you _trying_ to be _stupid_ or are you simply _completely obtuse_?”

James did open his eyes then, offended despite of everything, and what he saw on Matthew’s face was still complete annoyance. “Excuse yo-”

“No, excuse _you_. You say you don’t want to hurt me, but then you talk about, about _dying_? What world is that which you live in where those two notions are not the same thing? You really think any of us would be happy about it? Your mother would be devastated, your father, Lucie, Tom and Chris, your uncle Jem. And me. How do you think I would feel? I- We are _parabatai_ , James!”

All James could do was swallow thickly, averting his eyes. In a way, he knew what Matthew was saying was true, but it was so hard to believe it over the darkness around him, he couldn’t see how any of them could be happy dealing with this for the rest of their lives just because of him.

“I know you all would… Mourn… For a while. But we are Nephilim, we lose people all the time. You would soon see it is better like this, you would move on, be happy…”

Matthew shook his head so violently it startled James into being quiet. His hands searched for James’ and gripped them tight, so much it hurt, but the boy didn’t complain. Despite the onslaught of feelings crashing over him from Matthew again – despair, fear, rage, disbelief, shock, determination, hope, and a feeling so strong it knocked the air from his lungs – the solid presence of Matthew’s hands and pain grounded him, made him feel calmer than he had felt in weeks.

“No. James, no. _No_. There’s absolutely no way I could ever be happy in a world where you don’t exist. Don’t you know? Your breaths are my breaths and your heartbeat is my heartbeat. Your pain is my pain and if you get hurt, I will bleed. We are one, James, way beyond the parabatai bond. Wherever you go, I will go, and if you die, I will die together with you.” 

He turned James’ hands around, thumbs caressing softly over the palms where his nails had dug into and his stare drew James in like a tide. James had always marveled at the seriousness and the iron will that lay behind the playfulness in Matthew’s eyes, and he had never seen them so intense before, so focused, so desperate for him to understand what for Matthew was the fundamental truth of his life. Little did he know, it was the fundamental truth in James’ as well.

“You carry my life in those careless hands of yours, can't you see?” he murmured, “I am sorry I couldn’t protect you until now, I promise I am going to try harder so you don’t feel alone again, but please Jamie, promise me you are going to take care of yourself too. If you can’t do it for you just yet, then do it for me, please. I promise you we are going to get through this together, so, please?”

James looked at Matthew then, at his tear streaked face, his tousled hair, his strong and yet gentle eyes. He was a mess, he was beautiful, and somehow he was his. Maybe James was just tired of tearing himself up inside, but in that moment Matthew’s words moved and convinced him. There really wasn’t anything they couldn’t do together, and the investigations would point to the real culprit eventually, right? And then… Well, James wasn’t entirely sure what would happen next, but he wanted to believe, like Matthew, that it would all end up fine, that he could do it. He just needed to try. Maybe he couldn’t do it for himself, but for Matthew… He would go through any danger for him, even the danger of living.

He nodded, and as Matthew still looked up at him expectantly, he wet his lips and spoke: “Yes, I promise.”

Matthew’s answering smile was like the sun, casting away the shadows that lived around and inside James, all the more powerful because it was a real one, and James hung on to it, to that image. Anything that made Matthew smile like that had to be the right decision, he had to hold on to that.

But still, even as Matthew pulled him up and guided him by the hand back to his bedroom so they could get a couple more hours of sleep, even as he focused on their shared warmth under the cover and tried to commit his promise to heart, there was another voice echoing in the back of his mind, a laugh like glass bells and the finality of a doll-like word.

 _Liar_ , it said.

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone asks, no, I am not sorry at all for drawing that parallel with Jemma *cue evil laughter*. Come on, people? Emma almost drowned in LM and James almost drowned in Midnight Heir? Too big a coincidence to pass up. I hope you all enjoyed this feels ride of mine!
> 
> Have a Heronchild prompt? Leave it at [heronchildlove.tumblr.com](heronchildlove.tumblr.com) that I will get to it asap!
> 
> Want a prompt for any other TSC characters or ship? Then leave it at [nandawrites.tumblr.com](nandawrites.tumblr.com)!


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